Of Peerless Emeralds
by avet
Summary: If anything is to be said about Nara Shikaku in the Daimyō's court, then it's that he was unfazed by the events that brought him to the Fire country's capital, and made him sit in seiza before the Fire Daimyō and the Fire's only princess, Senhime. [femHarry]


**Warning:** Ambiguous/Open ending

 **AN:** The Jūbi's attack didn't reach HQ, period.

Beware the typos.

* * *

 **Of Peerless Emeralds**

 **by** avet

* * *

Minamoto no Senhime was a peculiar presence in the Fire Daimyō's court.

She was - in contrast to her haughty kin - tranquil, firm and possessed a keen mind.

She was well known for being a rational and compassionate noble, as most of the orphanages in the Fire Country were built due to her explicit wishes. Not to mention the three recent hospitals in Fire she contributed to from time to time, the generous donations to the needy citizens, and the rise of literacy in the civilian society in the latest years due to her interest in organizing the mandatory free classes for civilians.

She was a common presence in the political grounds, the guiding hand of the Daimyō, mercilessly squashing those who underestimate her or attempt to cause destruction in her country, or even endeavor to manipulate the Daimyō's favor, which sadly happens frequently due to the spineless man's ever changing mindset.

Senhime was a respected figure to the shinobi populace, considering that she is a civilian Hime. She remolded the Fire's Capital to her satisfaction, and there was some apprehension at first, a seemingly spoiled Hime trying her hand at a foreign issue to her ilk, but the results were outstanding. She employed several competent companies from Iron to restructure the capital, and the expenses did not affect the Capital's reserves, as the money happened to be 'generously contributed' by several noble families, and while that may have been the official statement, there were some whispers about the Hime 'persuading' the nobles into paying the expenses from their own pockets.

The shinobi themselves saw the astounding change in the once cramped capital, with its uneven roads and narrow, muddy streets full of defecation, now sleek and broad cobblestone streets with barely a hint of dirt on the ground. She upheld a rigid policy for sanitation and made it her mission to speared awareness regarding health issues and education to all.

She was renown for providing the theory needed to enhance the chakraless medical operations, thus making the civilians independent of shinobi hospitals, and while this move helped the shinobi to preserve their costly chakra for their members, it also caused the disadvantage of slowly losing valuable donations from several wealthy civilians who expected the best medical attention, but in the end it diminished the tension between the two fractions as now each had their own care, actual widespread education for civilians, and met halfway in mutual trade.

However, it was no secret that the Hime had no great love for shinobi, going as far as to keep interaction with them to the minimum, and only attending their mandatory meeting, such as the selection of a new Hokage.

Senhime, unlike the Daimyō, was a levelheaded princess and was never one for frivolities. She kept her belief and judgment until proven otherwise.

It is said that she was well spoken, and possessed a dry humor that made the court's nobles rephrase their words millions of times in their minds before voicing them in fear of said 'humor' being unleashed at them.

In the end, it's known that Senhime was just, harsh perhaps, but undoubtedly just. And it's on that principle the shinobi of Konohagakure approached her, a month after the Fourth Shinobi War, with a request most would deem irrational and imprudent, not to mention discourteous to someone of her station.

:

* * *

 **Nara Shikaku**

* * *

Tension was palpable in the deathly silent chamber, except for the persistent tapping of the Daimyō's frivolous fan, and Shikaku discreetly exhaled.

Troublesome.

His eyes slowly drifted to the figure seated primly on a silken fort, still and serene in the face of the uncertainty suffocating the chamber.

Senhime was donning an excellent mask of indifference, but she did not attempt to conceal the annoyance that crept in her otherworldly eyes. The Daimyō hemmed and hawed, looking desperately left and right for anyone to come forward with another opinion, a different persuasion, but it seems that the advisers had exhausted their objections, and refused to comment further.

A soft sigh - unnoticed by the civilian party but instantly caught by the present shinobi - sounded from the Fire country's Hime, and Shikaku tightened his hand in reflex, then relaxed it the instant he did it. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Godaime's face sour, before the expression was immediately wiped clean.

"Chichiue," unyielding, unfazed and with a dark undertone was her voice. The Daimyō began to practically sweat, eyes frantically flying around the chamber for ones that would meet his own, but sadly for him no one did.

"Daimyō!" A harsh reprimand that had the Daimyō flinching, eyes finally rising to meet his daughter's, he relented, and uncharacteristically pleaded, "Senhime, we do not wish for this!"

Well, neither did Konoha, but Shikaku didn't voice that.

"I am perfectly aware of this, Daimyō," Shikaku stole a glance at the princess, and found her glaring at her lord father. "Nevertheless, the Godaime's solution has a higher chance of establishing stability in the Fire country than the seventeenth fictitious ones presented in the previous four hours." Her statement made the tension thicker, the Daimyō's face was a flash of green and yellow, and the advisers wisely fixated their attention on the messily arranged papers on their low table.

Shikaku's spine straightened, and he saw the Hokage candidate – Hatake, pull himself up from his usual slouch; finally they were getting a clear answer, and Shikaku, for all his previously foreseen possibilities – twenty three situations plotted out during the previous hours, the remaining two happen to be a rigged refusal worsening the situation at hand, involving the dismissal of their shinobi counterparts in the Daimyō's court, and one impassive and civil, inconvenient or under consideration kind of response - he could not honestly determine her final decision.

She shifted in her seat, the artfully arranged silken pillows behind her dipping slightly due to her sudden movement, her hair a canvas of black ink all around her.

Senhime suddenly fixed her gaze at him, lazily regarding him; assisting him, evaluating him. And he never felt more inferior and unworthy in another's presence, though he made sure to not let it appear on his scarred face.

If anything is to be said about Nara Shikaku in the Daimyō's court, then it's that he was unfazed by the events that brought him to the Fire Country's capital, and made him sit in seiza before the Fire Daimyō and the Fire's only princess, Senhime.

"Very well," a silky, cultured voice snapped him to his current place, and he gave the twitching fingers of the Godaime's a wary glance. "I accept your proposal, Godaime Hokage." Shikaku heard that, understood that, but for the life of him could not fathom why would she do it.

But he kept his mouth shut, bowed low alongside the Godaime and Hatake, and ignoring the slight hitch in the voice of the fearless Godaime thanking the hime, he allowed himself a long, faintly bewildered glance at the fair princess before him, and she in return merely held his own for a fraction of a second, before turning and offering the Godaime a slight, artificial smile.

:

* * *

 **Sarutobi Asuma**

* * *

 _When Sarutobi Asuma was a member of the Twelve Guardians, he had the pleasure of seeing the Fire's elusive Hime._

 _It was during the discussion of a new policy in Fire Country, and while the Daimyō was the one who happened to expose it to the Court, it was well known that the Hime was the brain behind the latest procedures._

 _Asuma was merely doing his job as a Guardian, sweeping his eyes on the snotty gathering for any mischief, when he noticed the bamboo curtains beside the Daimyō, the hime's usual seating, move and lift until halfway. He glimpsed a long train of beautifully threaded sakura blossoms on a silky kimono, and a pale, delicate hand holding a craftily ornamented cup, which was passed on to the Daimyō by a handmaiden, then a look from the notoriously alluring - according to one feverish poet - emerald eyes had him stumbling from his relaxed pose on the wall to stand at attention._

 _It was a reflexive move that surprised him, but what was more shocking was the raised eyebrow his abrupt movement caused. There was no astonishment, no inquiry in that steady gaze directed at him, as if she expected him to stand erect and dutiful in her presence, then all too soon the curtain was lowered and he could only see the silhouette of her person._

 _Senhime was said to be beautiful, but he could truthfully say that the word does not do her any justice; she was a different definition of beautiful, one that he had never laid eyes on in all his twenty years of existence._

:

* * *

 **Nara Shikamaru**

* * *

The Nara compound was a fairly peaceful place; a vast amount of land of green, traditional and modern houses built in a cleverly deceive formation, behind them lies the Nara clan forest, its towering trees forming a shadow in the wane of Konoha's blushing skies.

Then suddenly, the peaceful place was no more.

From above an uneven rooftop, with a burnt cigarette loosely held between his fingers, Shikamaru lazily observed the servants running frantically around, the chaos of several carts entering and leaving the wide-open gates of Nara's compound, the old civilian ladies of their clan were running everyone ragged, with the addition of many uninvited snooty couriers, ordering the removal of this and the placement of that, the Main House – which was almost never used except in festivals and formal events, his late mother didn't like its large and impractical space and moved them to a homely house that once belonged to a childless civilian - was stripped and redecorated, polished until it was almost unrecognizable.

Priceless dainty vases were suddenly placed everywhere in the house, unnecessarily expensive miscellaneous things were now found in every inch of it, and if Shikamaru was thankful for one thing, then it would be that he never lived in it before.

Seeing everything that once belonged to their tightknit household discarded and changed beyond recognition would have been painful.

He brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaled deeply, and hoped that his father's absolute loyalty to Konoha won't be the cause of his, and the Nara clan's, downfall.

.

.

* * *

 **Yamanaka Inoichi**

* * *

Inoichi walked through the merrily crowded street of Konoha's Tea Avenue, and gazed contently at the rowdy children roughhousing in the corners and the sneaky civvies that manipulated their folks with huge eyes to buy a certain fairly priced Hime's Eyes - a specially flavored cake with too much sugar and overly decorative box – while shamelessly executing a technique that would've made a certain ANBU unit proud.

He pulled the noren of a moderately designed shop, and made a beeline for his usual table, which happened to be at the very back, beside the window, with two movable partitions concealing it from the front tables, but not from its left side.

As he tapped the muffling seal on the underside of the table - courtesy of a paranoid shinobi - he caught a familiar chakra signature heading his way.

He raised his head and silently appraised the figure lazily approaching him; time has been kind to his long-time friend, who is celebrating his forty-two birthday next week, and aside from the twitchy movement of his right hand's fingers –a side effect from a stray butchered jutsu, the poor Genin who pulled it off spent a whole month wiping the Jōnin Standby Station floors and unclogging its toilets – he was wholly unchanged.

Perhaps not physically, at least.

There was an aura of, dare he say, contentment around him. And while the Shikaku of years past never explicitly expressed any less than that, or complained the lack thereof, this Shikaku is clearly at ease with himself.

"How was your vacation?" He asked knowingly. "I heard that you brought back some souvenirs from some exotic place.." The Jōnin Commander shot him an exasperated look, muttering some unsavory words under his breath.

"Your boys gossip more than civilian grandmas, Yamanaka," Shikaku said dryly as he sat down in front of him. "Should I be worried about the capacity of Konoha Intelligence nins if they have enough time for idle chatter?"

"Come now, you know that it's been ages since anything exciting happened there," Inoichi said chidingly, to which the Nara clan head shot him an incredulous stare expressing his belief regarding his words.

A brief moment of silence ensued while the young assistant – Aimi, seventeen years old civilian orphan, studying art in a school purposely built for taking specific courses, courtesy of a certain wife of his friend - laid down their order.

"So, how's the Hime?" Inoichi asked quietly after the assistant bobbed her head at them and skipped to the next booth.

"Maa, she's fine," replied Shikaku lazily, but Inoichi was not fooled.

"Trouble in paradise?" He asked teasingly, expecting a denial, but surprisingly he got an affirmative.

"There was never a paradise," sighed his oldest friend, looking weary as he admitted that.

"How come?" as far as anyone knows, Nara Shikaku was happily married to the Fire's Hime for sixteen months now. Even his daughter Ino - leading the village's residential gossip club – would say so in certainty. To hear his friend say otherwise, well, then Shikaku might be a better actor than he originally thought.

"She tolerates me," said Shikaku evenly, raising his cup and gazing at the floating leaves inside it. "But other than that.. I would say that we make perfect strangers."

"And you…" Inoichi trailed off, hesitant to utter the words out loud.

"Fond of her, yes, sadly for both of us." Finished Shikaku bitterly, laying the cup with deliberate gentleness.

"Huh," Inoichi laid back on the chair, gazing with astonishment at his usually composed friend.

"Didn't expect that, did you?" huffed Shikaku with mild amusement, meeting his widened eyes directly.

"No.. No, I did not," Inoichi said truthfully, as he finally moved his hand and grasped the handle of his cup. "But surely matrimonial fondness takes some years to settle? And I thought that the marriage was up to the Hime.."

"It was," agreed the Jōnin commander, before continuing, "But it was explicitly expressed to me that this was a marriage of convenience, and I should not expect or hope for anything else."

"That's harsh," noted Inoichi, taking care to not let sympathy seep through his words.

"That's my Hime," acknowledged the Nara, gazing at the picture of serenity the world outside their window painted.

"Troublesome woman."

.

.

* * *

 _They were wed on a mild day in spring; the skies were clear, the sun shining above the peaceful village, and all of his friends, colleagues and subordinates were in attendance. It was the joining of the century, after all, and it's not everyday the Fire Country can celebrate the marriage of her sole royal princess._

 _Even to a lowly subject such as he._

 _He walked with sure steps on the paved way with his uchikake clad bride – he could not see her whole face due to the gigantic headdress she wore, but when she approached him earlier he got a glimpse of her red-painted lips and dark, long lashes - and he had to discreetly take deep breaths to avoid the impending panic, for contrary to popular belief getting married a second time was in no way easier than the first, and considering that it's a Hime that he's marrying now ... 'dear kami he was supposed to be levelheaded why did he agree to this madness.'_

 _He kept his eyes upon the Sanshin leading them to the shrine. Their music was loud and clear, the priestess directly before them swaying slightly to their serene notes._

 _He could remember what happened after that in perfect sequence._

 _Shikaku and his wife to-be, and the couriers following them, entered the massive shrine and were guided to the priest._ _The Shubatsu-no-gi occurred, and then the priest unrolled the ornamented missive, announcing the marriage to Hachiman Okami and seeking the blessings and protection of the Kami to the newly wedded couple._

 _They sat upon a raised dais; the young miko who guided them stepped out and dedicated a sacred dance to them._

 _Each was given a delicately crafted cup, and the priest poured sake into them. They exchanged their nuptial cups three times and drank three sips from each of the three cups of the sake that were placed before Hachiman-jin._

 _Shikaku bowed to the teary-eyed Daimyō and took the marriage vow from him, faced the statue of the kami and read out the vow with a clear voice. They made their tamagushi offerings, forsook the rings swapping and finally shared the sake with the Hime's royal father and stepmother, Lady Shijimi, and his attending clan elders._

 _Minamoto no Senhime was dazzling, he could see this confirmed in the long, unseemly gazes the men - and some women - where unsubtly shooting her, and he honestly could not find it in himself to blame them._

 _And in a moment of absurdity, he remembered a poem he once overheard recited in her name._

 _"Across her smooth, untouched face,_  
 _She wears a complexion of warning,_  
 _And houses a set of haunting eyes,_  
 _Neither her royal mothers nor fathers._

 _Emerald eyes near perfection,_  
 _Vibrant verdant gems,_  
 _Beyond human beauty and being._

 _Divinity and surrealism her gaze,_  
 _Those eyes which are so radiant,_  
 _And so scared,_  
 _Haunted themselves." (1)_

:

* * *

 **Minamoto no Senhime**

* * *

He came in the middle of the night, with the full moon high in the sky, painting her vast chamber with sliver light, and reeked heavily of a coppery odor.

He stood beside her futon for a while - she did not acknowledge him, but knew that he was aware of her consciousness – before he crawled under her silk covers and embraced her with blood-tainted hands.

His breath was hot on her neck, hands creeping upwards to her one-layered kimono's collar, and she opened her eyes to gaze at their reflection in the wall mirror before her. He was looking right back at her, eyes dark and filled with unspoken words.

So desperate, this one is.

 _"_ Please _,"_ he whispered.

She shut her eyes, the plea reminding her of a man with green eyes and a too heavy burden on his shoulders, who stood before a merciless jury and beseeched likewise.

" _Accept our verdict, O savior._ " They said.

He wept. But he did.

Hundreds of years later, he was still atoning for the unspeakable he committed.

She was Harry Potter, but Harry Potter is not Senhime.

So she turned to the man who calls himself her husband, and with tender hands she guided his head to rest on her chest, and allowed his frantic, stained hands to touch her in a bittersweet intimacy.

.

.

.

 **End**

* * *

 **AN:** Inspired by _Hermionechan90_ 's **Deer tracks** , this fic was sitting for a while (coughthreeyearscough) on my desktop and I decided to just post it.

 **1.** Poem shamelessly nicked from Teen Ink website, Free Verse section in poetry, by Matthew H.

 **Edit Jun 20, 2016:** I've decided to write a prequel for this fic, and while I don't know how much its gonna take, hopefully I can finish it before August.

 **Edit Jun 4, 2017:** _August, aye, but never said which year._ I'm kidding, the prequel is 70% done, and all I can say for the delay is that I had a massive writer's block.

 **Edit May 1, 2018:** the prequel/sequel thingie is up, check it out.


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